


Wasteland Binge

by maplewix (orphan_account)



Series: best of dailysamifer [13]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, it's like dogfighting but with demons/monsters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:54:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/maplewix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is the shame of the family, proof that his mother had cheated with a demon. He's adjusted to his life, hiding his horns if he can but never really being able to disguise his eyes, when he's kidnapped and forced into an illegal fighting ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wasteland Binge

**Author's Note:**

> fyi this was originally a finding nemo au

A hand closed down over his throat and Sam kicked out wildly. He caught the second man’s knee, judging by the sound of it, but the fingers around his neck tightened. 

"Got him," a voice hissed from behind his ear. "Grab his horns." 

Two hands pressed down over the horns atop his head and the vibrations of fingers dragging across them made his senses scream. A hand pressed a dank cloth down over his nose and he choked into darkness. 

He woke to a dizzying sense of nausea and the feeling of someone poking him in the face. 

Sam waved the hand away blearily and rolled over to vomit. He pressed his head to the cool stone beside the mess and tried not to panic. 

"Sit up," a voice insisted. He ignored it. 

"I said  _sit up_ , and you’d better listen if you want to live,” said the voice again. “They’re going to send you out there in just a minute, and you’re going to have to fight.” 

With a great deal of effort, Sam forced himself upright and blinked as the form came into focus. 

"Better," she said. "Take these, they’ll help with the nausea—" She pressed a pill into Sam’s mouth and he swallowed automatically, still woozy. She wiped her fingers off with a grimace and offered him a knife, handle first. 

"Hold onto this," she said. 

He accepted, numb, and folded his arms around himself, hiding the knife in the crook of his elbow. She patted him on the back. 

"Good job," she said. "Keep those down, alright? Good luck." 

She must’ve gotten up and walked away, because when Sam next got his brain to focus she was gone and instead his attention was caught by the sound of a crowd. 

Two guards stepped out from behind the door and seized him beneath the arms, dragging him to his feet. They hauled him back out and down the hall. Sam stumbled repeatedly, trying to get his feet under him while simultaneously craning his head to try and get a look at where they were going, because he could hear a roar like a crowd. 

The girl who’d given him the pills must’ve lied. Sam’s stomach had settled, but the world seemed to twist away from him in the edges as if he were peering through a glass bowl and the all the colors seemed too bright. 

Then Sam was tossed out onto a dirt floor with a cruel-faced full-demon standing over him. 

"Ready?" a voice called, too loud and echoing in Sam’s ears. What had that girl  _given_ him? 

Then that didn’t matter, because the announcer shouted, “GO!” and there was a knife swinging at Sam’s throat.

He dodged out of pure instinct and fell back a step. The demon lunged again and Sam hopped out of the way. He took advantage of the demon’s moment of imbalance to shove him to the floor. 

The demon rolled back onto his feet. He grinned up at Sam, crouching, testing the weight of the blade. 

This time, he aimed for Sam’s legs. 

Afterward, Sam could only say that his memories were too drug-blurred to remember properly what had happened. If he thought for long enough, he could see—blood, lots of it, and he could hear cheering. 

Next he remembered staring up, head pounding, at the sun glaring down piercingly, a crow cawing from a powerline.

"Awake?" 

Sam tried to respond. His voice crawled like sludge off his tongue. “Ghhuff,” he said experimentally. 

The owner of the voice snorted. “Yeah, you’re awake. Hey, everyone, the new boy’s up and about!” 

Someone whooped sarcastically. Sam forced his arms to cooperate and sat up. 

"The name’s Benny Lafitte," said the voice. "Welcome to Hell." 

"Purgatory," Sam corrected, hoarsely, reflexively, because he had known with a sinking heart where he was from the moment the memories had knocked on his aching head. 

"Too true," Lafitte responded. "We’re betting on how long you’ll last, so I have to ask—you any good at fighting?" 

"Cheater!" a voice teased from Sam’s left. 

Sam was in a cage. 

A system of cages, really. They sprawled out across the dust, disappearing into a warehouse nearby. He could sit, but not stand, although he might be able to stretch out if he ducked his head. 

"Shit," he said pitifully, and dropped back down onto the ground. "Fuck."


End file.
